


Secrets

by acornpockets



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Orc, Orsimer - Freeform, adultery ?, breton - Freeform, mentions of abuse, mild nsfw themes, priestess of dibella
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 03:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18512959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acornpockets/pseuds/acornpockets
Summary: Borkul and Senna discuss parts of their pasts, before being interrupted.





	Secrets

Of all the horrible things Borkul had done in his life, sleeping with his best friend’s wife was probably the most dangerous.

Basil had made Borkul into his wife’s personal bodyguard, claiming it was out of trust, but Borkul figured it was more of a test. A test that, clearly, Borkul was failing. He’d strolled into the house confidently, figuring that it would be easy to keep a domestic, peaceful woman out of danger, but Senna had stuck her leg out to trip him, and Borkul had fallen right into her bed.

This was worse than a few hook-ups, of course. Borkul, worryingly enough, was starting to think he was falling in love with her.

Borkul had never experienced love like this before. Fondness for his friends? Sure. Sexual attraction? Definitely. But _love?_  Never. It was an unknown, looming beast, strong enough to make even a bloodthirsty monster like Borkul into something soft. It was terrifying.

The thrall and passion of sex, even, was not enough to temper this feeling. Borkul was noticing things other than the heated, physical aspects of Senna which had attracted him to her in the first place. He was getting caught up in the little things, like her freckles, or her breath - the softness of her lips, the lightest touch of her fingers that sent shivers down his spine.

Worst of all, came afterwards. As he lie there, with Senna nestled against his body like a purring cat, Borkul found himself wishing he could stay.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Senna’s husband were any other man. Borkul could play homewrecker - steal her away, do away with her husband if he tried to do something about it. But no - Senna’s husband was, of course, the one human being in the world whom Borkul was afraid of.

Borkul stared down at Senna, draped over his chest, impossibly warm and soft compared to what he was used to. His fingers traced her body; she was tall, but small compared to Borkul. Her hips were wide, gently curved, her stomach and thighs just a little bit soft. Signs of a life spent at home, the very antithesis of Borkul’s own history.

She was touching his face with those long, gentle fingers, now, tracing over his scars and asking how he got them. He had a story behind them all, and while he usually kept them to himself, he now gave them away freely. Of course he did.

“That’s from the first fight I ever won. Some wood elf I was sparring against pulled a dirty trick and got me with his dagger. I kicked his ass, almost killed him.”

Thrilled by the little game they were playing, Senna moved her fingers higher, touching Borkul’s temple.

“What happened to your eye?” she asked.

“A mage threw frostbite venom into my face. Hurt like hell,” he replied, smirking. “Still took care of him.”

She grinned. “Can you see out of it at all?”

“Not very well.” To demonstrate, Borkul closed his good eye. “Everything’s very blurry, and white.”

Senna hummed thoughtfully, clearly entertained. Her touch went to his broken tusk.

“What about this?”

Even for an orc who wasn’t raised in a Stronghold, Borkul was sensitive about his tusks. For Orsimer, they were symbolic of one’s strength and honor. Needless to say, Borkul hesitated before giving his answer.

“… That actually wasn’t a fight.”

Senna noticeably perked up. “Oh?”

Borkul continued. “I was a teenager. I was in a bandit clan at a time, somewhere near the border of the Reach and Falkreath. They sent me to scope out the area, and I was  _pissed_ , because what kind of job is that? I was an orc, for fuck’s sake - they could’ve sent a wood elf or a Breton to do their spying, but no. They sent  _me_.”

Senna didn’t respond. Her fingers had settled on Borkul’s cheek, and her lips were parted slightly, like they did whenever she was  _really_ listening.

“… So, I was pissed. I ran off, marching through the woods and making enough noise to wake the entire forest. I wasn’t paying attention to anything. I found my way near this big river, right? And…. The ground crumbled right under me.

“I fell into the water, banged my head on a rock, and the next thing I knew I was washed up downstream with my clan’s chief looking down at me, shaking his head. And my tusk was broken.”

Senna had fallen silent. Her hand went to his tusk again, ever so slightly brushing over it. With a huff, Borkul reached up, gently taking her wrist and drawing it away from his face.

“Do you ask your husband about  _his_  scars?” Borkul asked bluntly. He hadn’t meant it to come out so harshly. Senna frowned, clearly taken aback by the way he phrased the question, and he immediately regretted it.

“No,” she said bluntly. “He has so many of them, but I don’t know how he got them. I don’t know anything about his past -  _or_  his present. He doesn’t tell me anything about what he does when he’s gone. Only that it’s dangerous.”

They both went quiet for a moment. So Basil was better at keeping secrets from Senna than he was? Borkul wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

“How’d you wind up married to… Someone like him?” he asked.

Senna remained silent for even longer. There was a dreamy look in her eye - like she was reliving events of the past.

“He visited my temple,” she finally said. “I used to be a priestess.”

“ _What?_ ” Borkul made no attempt to hide his disbelief. “Of which god?”

“Dibella,” Senna replied.

The goddess of love and beauty. Borkul snorted.

“What?” Senna asked defensively.

“Nothing, its just - of course you were.”

“Why? Because I’m beautiful, right?” she asked playfully. Borkul smiled back at her - warm and genuine.

“Yeah, that’s why. Definitely.”

Senna had that same fond, knowing look in her eye. Her fingertips walked along the length of Borkul’s jaw, and his chest ached. 

“So. Basil started visiting the temple, almost on daily basis. Not to pray, or anything, just to be annoying. He’d make filthy jokes about the statues, snack on the offerings, try to break into the Inner Sanctum…” Senna continued, gaze drifting away, as though she were looking into the past. “One time, he actually  _succeeded_ , right when the High Priestess was in the middle of a ritual. We were trying to find our next Sybil, and he offered to bring the girl back to the temple in exchange for forgiveness-” 

This was already a lot to take in. Borkul knew very little about religion. He also knew very little about Basileos. Being a dickhead and openly disrespecting a goddess, just for fun? Borkul could see him doing  _that_ , but seeking forgiveness afterwards…? 

“What’s a Sybil?” Borkul asked instead. 

Senna blinked, met his gaze once more. “Oh, um - she’s a sort of prophet. A direct connection to the goddess. When she’s older, she’ll lead the temple,” she explained. “Ours was a little girl. Fjotra. Basil brought her back to the temple, received Dibella’s blessing. Then he disappeared for a few weeks, came back wearing an Amulet of Mara, and… Proposed.”

Borkul raised an eyebrow. “And you married him?”

Senna’s face went red. “Yes.”

“Just like that?” 

“Yes!”

Borkul snorted. 

“What?” Senna demanded. 

“You barely knew him.”

“So?” 

“ _So?_  He could’ve been a murderer, or a criminal mastermind-” Borkul paused. “He  _is_ a murderer and criminal mastermind.” 

Senna huffed. “You’re starting to sound like the High Priestess.”

Borkul’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head. Senna’s face scrunched up, and somehow turned even redder. 

“You  _asked!_ ”

“I know, But still-”

They were both frozen solid at the sound of a door slamming shut downstairs. 

“Unbelievable,” Borkul hissed. “Un-fucking-believable.” 

Basil was home.

“Shit, shit shit  _shit_.” Senna nearly fell out of bed, dragging Borkul out and hurriedly tugging off the sheets they had ruined. These were deposited in Borkul’s arms, and he was turned towards the washroom. “Go. Out the window,” Senna ordered, giving him no time to argue.

Borkul hurried as quietly as was possible for a six foot tall orc. Senna searched the room, snatched up any stray articles of clothing she could find. Silently praying to Dibella that she had found them all, she quickly followed Borkul into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. 

Borkul had already tossed the sheets onto the roof, but he was hesitating in front of the window. Senna stared at him incredulously. 

“What?”

Borkul looked down at himself. 

“We’re stranded in the middle of Hjaalmarch,” he said. “I’ll die from the cold if I go out there.” 

“Well, what’s worse-” Senna said in a hushed tone, marching towards Borkul on her tiptoes, shoving his clothes into his arms. “ _You_ dying in the cold, or  _both_ of us dying by my husband’s hand?”

And, just like that, Borkul was gone. 


End file.
